


'Ion-nin'

by Runewif (Wynja2007)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hope, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Runewif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem in which Thranduil considers what his son means to him in context of events of the Third Age</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Ion-nin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassieHughes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieHughes/gifts).



**‘In my beginning is my end…’ T S Eliot, ‘East Coker’**

**‘Ion-nin’**

He brings me things  
My little leaf; a stone  
Of interesting colour, washed by a stream.  
Acorns. Conkers, glossy and rich  
As the hair of my Silvan subjects.

Climbing up on my lap, interrupting  
Meetings and matters of state to show  
The latest treasure. His infant voice  
Light and lisping. Hope.  
It is hope he brings, dropping it  
Into my lap and wiping  
Sticky fingers in my hair.  
I do not care.

He brings me pride  
As he grows to lead, to serve.  
And joy as I watch  
The dance of his blades, the song  
Of his bowstrings.  
He brings me wine, dismisses  
My courtiers. ‘Relax, Ada,’ he says.  
‘You work too hard.’  
And it is laughter he brings, respite from toil.  
He brings me hope as we build in speech  
A future for our oak and beech and ash.

He brings me bodies, orc arrows still  
Embedded; elves  
Robbed of forever, and the prisoner gone.  
He brings me dread. The news, he says, must go,  
And he must take it. He kneels  
For my blessing, and his head  
Trembles at my touch.  
Or is it my hand shakes? He brings his knives  
To lay on my lap in service.  
He gives me his word. ‘I will  
Come back, Ada, I will return.’

They bring me news  
Of fire and war on my own borders. I go  
And fight so he has a home  
To come back to, something left.  
I am bereft already without my son. There is  
Nothing left to lose, so of course  
We win the battle.

They bring me Celeborn, we arrange  
New boundaries. New starts, new  
Beginnings  
Which bring no joy.

He comes! He brings  
A dwarf. I would  
Reject this ‘friend’, except…  
My son’s eyes plead, let old wrongs rest. ‘He saved  
My life, a thousand times.’ And so  
I put a welcome on my face.

He brings me, smiling, plans  
To take him far away, to found  
Ithilien, to fill  
The woods with elves and song.  
He brings my fëa freedom, flight  
And fright, but still, he goes.

He brings me tidings.  
He will sail.  
The sea-song surf  
Surging his veins like singing blood. He brings  
Me with him where his boat is built, his friend the dwarf  
A muttering, stalwart soul. It brings  
A secret smile.

‘Do something for me, Ada. One last thing before  
The seas part us, for a time.’  
‘Anything, my son, for you.’ His smile  
Is sunshine, and he brings  
A moving bundle, places it  
Into my care. Within  
The circle of my arms, a child is there.  
‘You are a grand-adar. Care  
For my son, as you did me. Let him  
Bring you pretty leaves, and special stones,  
Let him tangle his sticky fingers  
In your hair, and think of me.’

He brings his arms around us both. We do not speak.  
Cannot. He disengages, climbs aboard, sails off  
Down Anduin to the sea. And I –  
No, we… we watch him go, more salt  
On my face than the whole ocean holds.

He brings me hope, and I hold it in my arms, and we depart  
Back to my forest and its Silvan hearts, I bring  
Their future.

**Author's Note:**

> Although not inspired by it as such, Cassie Hughes' wonderful 'The Last Green Leaf' was in my mind when I wrote this.


End file.
